


The Crow: Death and Dishonor

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Crossover, Drama, Episode Related, Horror, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-30
Updated: 2006-05-15
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Set in The Crow universe, Brian is murdered by Stockwell to keep his ties to Jason Kemp and Reichert a secret. With help from The Crow, Brian returns from the grave to avenge his death and save Justin from the murderous mayor. Will he succeed? Will true love overcome evil and perhaps be strong enough to conquer even death?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending...but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_"Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight."  
R. W. Raymond_  
  
Brian nursed his hangover with hot, black coffee. He had no idea what move to make next, but he'd be damned if he'd give up and let Stockwell cover up Reichert's death, neat and tidy, the same way he did Jason Kemp's. Justin was right, it wasn't over. It couldn't end this way.  
  
He finished his coffee, determination doing more to clear his head than caffeine, and threw on clean clothes, careful not to wake Justin who was still sleeping off their binge from the previous night. He stopped for a second to look at the young man asleep in his bed. _Sunshine,_ he thought, _wish me luck._  
  
*  
  
Stockwell's secertary showed him directly into the office. Brian was surprised; he would have left a client he was trying so hard to pin down waiting for at least twenty minutes.  
  
"Brian, I'm glad you thought it over and decided to come back. It's good to have you on the team again." Stockwell came around his desk and held a hand out to Brian.  
  
Brian ignored the gesture and shook his head. "I'm not here to play ball, Jim."  
  
"Then why are you here, Kinney?" Stockwell's hand dropped to his side, clenched. The welcoming smile remained in place, but his eyes turned cold and blank.  
  
"To talk."  
  
"What about?" Stockwell asked, his voice deceptively even.  
  
"Oh, this and that," Brian shrugged. "The weather, stock market, best vacation spots...or we could cut the bullshit and talk about how your ex-partner's sperm ended up inside Jason Kemp, and the stunning coincidence of Reichert's sudden and tragic demise."  
  
Stockwell sat down on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "Mmm. Terrible thing. No matter how well you think you know someone, you can never truly be sure that the face they show you isn't just a mask."  
  
Brian licked his lips and smiled without humor. "And it's getting harder and harder to tell the difference between the good guys and bad guys nowadays."  
  
"What Ken did to that boy was...horrible."  
  
"Fucking him or killing him?" Brian asked with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Brian, I don't have a problem with gays. I have a problem with anyone who breaks the law, gay or straight.'  
  
"So covering up the murder of a gay teen to protect your partner, _your friend_ , of fifteen years was just what...bending the law?"  
  
"You've got the wrong idea," Stockwell laughed. "I had nothing to do with what happened. Ken retired. It wasn't out of the blue; he had been talking about it for months. The Kemp boy fell through the cracks. I'm not proud of that, but there was no nefarious intent. We had no reason to suspect one of our own, but believe me, if we had- partner or not, cop or not, Kenneth Reichert would have been treated like any other suspect."  
  
"Jesus, Jim. I think you actually believe that," laughed Brian.  
  
"I think we're done here. Goodbye, Mr. Kinney," Stockwell said pointedly.  
  
Brian shoved his hands in his coat pockets and left without another word. Frustration boiled up inside him as he made his way down to the 'vette and headed back to the loft. A vague plan was beginning to form in the back of his mind, a way to stop Stockwell.  
  
Up in his office, Stockwell sat behind his desk, deep in thought. He had hoped Kinney would come around, but the man was intent on being a problem. _Damn him,_ he thought, _damn him_.  
  
*  
  
"Shit, Brian, what did he say?" Justin asked when he found out where Brian had been.  
  
"That he didn't do anything wrong. That Reichert acted alone. Oh yeah, and that I'm overreacting and he loves fags." Brian's voice dripped with sarcasm.  
  
Justin went over to Brian and cupped the taller man's face between his palms. "I can't believe you did that. The man's a freak. It could have been dangerous confronting him."  
  
"Yeah, he could have done _anything_ to me...in the middle of his office, in broad daylight." Brian wrapped his hands around Justin's wrists and leaned down to kiss him. "Stop worrying. I can take care of myself."  
  
*  
  
Brian had given the kid in the mailroom a fifty for the information in his hand. While it did confirm one of Brian's suspicions, it was basically useless beyond that. There was no one he could take it to, no one who would believe Stockwell was capable of murder. _Oh well,_ he thought, _it was worth finding out._ Brian suspected Reichert's suicide may have been _assisted_ by his former partner. The file in his hand proved it. There were traces of adhesive found on Reichert's wrists and around his nose and mouth. And the official cause of death was asphyxiation, not carbon monoxide poisoning. That meant someone had tied Reichert up, killed him, _then_ put him in his car with the motor running.  
  
Unfortunately, knowing it made no difference. The autopsy report had been sealed, effectively covering up another murder. Brian wondered how Stockwell did it. Had he tampered with the evidence, compromising the scene? Or more likely, called in a favor from the doctor or some other person in a power position?  
  
Brian stuffed the autopsy report in his coat pocket and lit a cigarette. Now that the mailroom kid was gone, the street he had chosen for a meeting place was empty. He figured the meeting had taken all of five minutes maybe, putting the time at around 2:40 a.m. "What a fucking bastard," he said quietly to the night air. He turned down the small alley to his left, wanting to get back to the loft before Justin woke up and noticed he was missing.  
  
Brian stopped and stubbed out the cigarette, a strange tingle running down the back of his neck. He knew something wasn't right. His instincts warned him he wasn't alone before he heard footsteps. He cursed under his breath, thinking his own guilt at this crazy subterfuge was making him paranoid. Nevertheless, he picked up his pace.  
  
"Kinney!" A voice called out behind him. "We need to talk."  
  
Brian stopped. _Stockwell._ He turned around slowly. "Jim. Fancy meeting you here."  
  
"I'm afraid it's not a coincidence, Brian. I've been following you."  
  
"Is this where you arrest me on some trumped up drug charge? Loitering? Solicitation?" Brian asked in amusement.  
  
"No, Kinney." Stockwell moved closer until he was standing directly in front of Brian. "I told you, I'm not a dirty cop. I wouldn't run you in under false pretenses."  
  
The calm reassurance made Brian nervous. He stuck his hands in his pockets and raised one eyebrow. "What is it you want to talk about? Considering you weren't very receptive when I came to see you, I'm awfully surprised you're in the mood for a chat now."  
  
"I've been thinking about our meeting since you left. In fact, I can't stop thinking about you."  
  
"Jim, I'm flattered. Does your wife know?"  
  
"Stop the bullshit, Kinney. I'm not in the mood to play games."  
  
"Well, that makes two of us. So what the fuck is this all about then?"  
  
"Every decision a man makes affects the course of his life, but what's important is the big picture. I've realized I can't live in fear of one bad choice."  
  
"Then end it, Jim. Take responsibility." Brian's eyes bored into Stockwell's.  
  
"That's just what I had in mind, Kinney. I really am sorry about this, but you shouldn't have set me up, gone digging where you didn't belong. I'm not a bad man, Kinney. I've never taken a bribe in my life, but when Ken came to me as a friend, asked me for help as a friend, not a cop...I made a choice. And now, _I have no choice but to see it through._ "  
  
Before he had a chance to react, while his brain was still processing the information...Stockwell pulled an evidence room, black-market 9mm from under his coat and put a bullet in Brian's forehead. He was dead before his body hit the ground.  
  
Stockwell carefully removed Brian's wallet and the autopsy findings with his gloved hands, took the cash out of the wallet before throwing it behind a line of overflowing trash cans. He put the rapidly cooling gun into a plastic bag. He did the same with the cash and piece of paper. "You should have stayed out of it, Kinney," Stockwell said, a sincere touch of regret in his voice. Rain began to fall as he walked slowly and steadily away from the crime he had just committed.  
  
Raindrops filled Brian's unseeing eyes and ran down his face like tears.  



	2. Chapter 1

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_"The boundaries between life and death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where one ends and where the other begins?"  
Edgar Allen Poe_  
  
Justin stood dry-eyed as the coffin was lowered into the ground. There were only a handful of them left at the graveside. On his left his mother and Daphne occasionally dabbed at their eyes with tissues. To his right, Ben and Hunter tried to comfort Michael who was sobbing openly. The others, Deb, Vic, Mel, Linz and Em, stood behind him. He knew they were still there because he could hear them sniffling. Justin kept his eyes on the coffin, refusing to look up and risk catching a glimpse of Brian's mother and sister standing across, and apart, from the rest of them. It didn't seem real that Brian could be dead. _It's not real,_ he told himself as he watched the vault being sealed.  
  
*  
Refusing to be part of what he saw as a hypocritical pretense of 'a loving family' show, Justin did not go with the others to Brian's mother's house. Instead, he went to the loft. He stripped out of the uncomfortable suit and tie that reminded him too much of his St. James days, and climbed into bed. He pulled Brian's pillow to him and inhaled his lover's familiar scent. His mind rebelled at thought of Brian being gone. It was less than seventy-two hours ago that they had shared this bed, Brian had held him, fucked him, fallen asleep beside him.  
  
 _Why would he leave in the middle of the night without waking me?_ Justin squeezed his burning eyes shut and yet he still didn't cry. There was an anger growing inside him- at Brian for not telling him what he had planned, at himself for not figuring out Brian was up to something, at fate for being such a motherfucker...but mostly the anger was directed at Stockwell. Justin was as sure as he had ever been about anything in his life that Stockwell was behind Brian's death. _Brian's dead._ He made himself think the words. The dull ache in his stomach became a throbbing pain that moved up and took root in his heart. "I promise you, I won't let him get away with it," Justin vowed.  
  
A single tear rolled down his face and dripped off his chin like a drop of rain.  
  
*  
  
A clicking sound and the sliding of the loft door woke Justin from a fitful sleep. He sat up slowly, expecting to see Brian, plastered and horny, coming home after a night at Babylon...then he remembered...Brian's death wasn't a nightmare he could simply wake up from. He rubbed his gritty feeling eyelids, but it was too dark to see who was walking towards the bedroom.  
  
"There you are. We've been looking everywhere for you," Michael said, weariness evident in his voice as he came over and sat on the foot of the bed facing Justin.  
  
"No one looked for me here," Justin replied, propping his chin on his raised knees.  
  
"Yeah, pretty stupid of us to think about this place last...but then, I guess none of us are thinking very clearly right now." Michael pulled out his cell phone and called Ben to let him and the others know he had found Justin.  
  
"No," he said quietly when Ben asked if Michael needed him to come over. "I'll be home later, if you'll just let Jennifer and Ma know he's okay. Yeah, thanks. Love you too," Michael said before ending the call. He gripped the phone tight in his hand for a second as he swallowed hard, more grateful than ever to have Ben in his life. He tucked the phone in his pocket and fought the tide of memories that every little thing in Brian's loft threatened to let loose.  
  
"Am I okay?" Justin asked looking up at Michael through the shaggy bangs partially covering his eyes. "You told Ben to tell them I'm okay."  
  
Something dark and cracked inside Michael suddenly healed. All the jealously and hurt he had felt over Justin's presence in Brian's life vanished as if it had never existed. He felt tears gathering in his already red-rimmed eyes and roughly brushed them away. He smiled a watery smile at Justin, realizing he and Gus were real, tangible ties to his best friend.  
  
"Yeah, you are. We both are, or at least we will be. He'd want us to be." Michael took a deep breath, determined not to cry any more today. Then he did something that surprised them both-  
he moved up on the bed and wrapped his arms around Justin's thin, bare shoulders, enfolding him in a hug meant to comfort and reassure. Justin was surprised because he wasn't privy to Michael's change of heart about him, Michael because he was being the strong one while it seemed the world was crashing down around them both.  
  
"We _will_ be okay." Michael pulled back to look Justin in the eye. "We'll help each other get through it. And we'll push fucking Stockwell to find who did this, we won't let him sweep it under the rug like all those others...like we don't fucking matter!"  
  
"It wasn't a mugging," Justin said intently. "Stockwell is responsible, I know he is!"  
  
"Justin..."  
  
"No, listen to me! Brian went to see him the day before he was murdered. Stockwell knew he was looking for a way to implicate him in the cover up of Jason Kemp's murder. Brian must've hatched some sort of scheme, that's the only reason he would have gone out in the middle of the night. I don't know how, but Stockwell found out and stopped him. Permanently."  
  
Michael rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. "Even if that's true...and that's a big _if_...there's no fucking way we can ever prove it. He's untouchable. He's the goddamn chief of police, soon to be mayor." Michael's eyes met Justin's. "Who are people going to believe...the fine upstanding man of the people, or us, the fags who would do anything to stop Stockwell?"  
  
"Then I'll just have to find evidence that can't be refuted." Justin stood and walked across the bed in his underwear, stepping down to where he left his clothes piled and began pulling them back on. "I won't let him get away with this, Michael. I can't."  
  
"I know...but, Jesus Christ, Justin!" Michael stopped and started again, his voice calmer. "If you believe Stockwell killed Brian, or had him killed, do you really think he'd hesitate to do the same to you if you go snooping around, especially this close to the election?"  
  
"I don't care." Justin finished buttoning his shirt and shoved his feet in his shoes and his tie in his pocket. He looked evenly at Michael still sitting on the bed. "You can help me or not, it's up to you...but I won't give up until Brian's murderer is behind bars."  



	3. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_"When you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend  
Just remember that death is not the end  
And all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend  
Just remember that death is not the end  
Not the end, not the end  
Just remember that death is not the end"  
Bob Dylan_  
  
There was no reading of Brian's will. The lawyer simply informed the concerned parties of their inheritance. In addition to the insurance policy to secure Gus's future, Brian had taken out a second million-dollar policy on himself naming Michael and Justin beneficiaries. A small trust fund with annual dividends set up by his grandparents when he graduated college was transferred to Claire. Everything else, the loft, the corvette, all his personal belongings, went to Michael.  
  
Three weeks after the funeral, Michael and Justin each received a letter from the insurance company with instructions on what to bring with them to claim their checks for half a million dollars.  
  
"Michael, I need to talk to you," Justin said as soon as the lone customer in the comic book shop left.  
  
"Sure, what's up?" Ever since the day of Brian's funeral, when Michael had found Justin, their relationship had been different. Since then Michael had felt almost paternal towards the young man he had spent the last few years thinking of as a thorn in his side. He understood now how deep Justin's feelings ran for Brian, and he knew that no matter what Brian had said, or more importantly _not_ said, his feelings for Justin had been the same.  
  
"I talked to my mom and she says the loft would list at around four-hundred-thousand. I'll sign over my half of the insurance money to you if you'll let me have it."  
  
"Brian wanted you to have that money."  
  
"And he obviously wanted you to have the loft, but I hope you won't let that stop you from considering my offer. I don't care about the money, Michael...I _need_ to live there, please."  
  
"Justin, he made that will before he even knew you. As soon as Ryder hired him and he got his student loans paid off, he had a will made. Brian wanted to be sure his parents didn't benefit if anything...happened to him." Michael swallowed around the lump forming in his throat at the memory. He had made a decision about the loft before Justin came to him, had talked it over with Ben and had just been waiting for the right time to bring it up. "I think he would have changed it if he had thought...well, if he had known...you know." He cleared his throat. "Even though things weren't always perfect between you two, I know how much you loved one another. And let's face it, from the first night he brought you back there, the loft has pretty much been your home, so...I don't see why that should change now." He dug something out from his messenger bag under the counter and came around to hand it to Justin.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"Read it," Michael smiled.  
  
"It's a deed...to the loft, in my name. Michael, I don't understand. How did you know I wanted to buy it?"  
  
"I didn't. And you're not buying it. It's a gift."  
  
"That's insane. Michael, you can't just _give_ me the loft."  
  
"I told you I already thought of it as yours, this just makes it legal. I'll be closing up pretty soon, why don't you hang around and then we'll go pick your stuff up from Daphne's."  
  
Justin bit his lip. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"I don't know what to say."  
  
"How about, ' _thank you_ '?"  
  
"Thank you. Really. You have no idea how much this means to me."  
  
"I kinda think I do," Michael said softly.  
  
Justin hugged him tightly.  
  
Michael pulled back and smiled a watery smile. "Do you remember the first time you hugged me?"  
  
"No," Justin said, puzzled. He wiped at his own eyes and sniffled.  
  
"It was the day I found out Captain Astro was dead. You followed me out of the diner and gave me a hug. You were the first one to understand how I felt."  
  
"It was also the day Jason Kemp's body was found."  
  
"Yeah. And now fucking Stockwell is mayor."  
  
"Not for long. I'm not letting him get away with what he's done. I'll take him down if it's the last thing I do, I swear."  
  
"Justin..." Michael bit back what he was going to say and instead gave Justin's arm a squeeze. "Be careful. Please."  
  
"Stop worrying," Justin grinned. "Two over-protective moms are more than enough, I don't need a third."  
  
*  
  
Stockwell was not happy. The little blonde fag, Kinney's butt buddy, was snooping around again. He was going to have to find a way to stop the kid without raising suspicion. Kinney's death was one thing, unfortunate, but necessary, but Stockwell knew he'd have to be extra careful from here on out. As mayor of Pittsburgh it was more important than ever that his reputation remain untarnished to the public...even if it meant making a deal or two with the devil himself.  
  
He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he starred at the phone in front of him. _No turning back_ , he reminded himself firmly. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number that no respectable public official should know.  
  
" _Yeah?_ "  
  
"I have a job for you."  
  
" _Well, well, well. Another one, already?"_ The disembodied voice cackled into Stockwell's ear. " _And here I was thinking this day just couldn't get any better. Just goes to show, you never know what's around the corner in this crazy world._ "  
  
"Cut the crap, Dutton. You want the job or not?"  
  
" _Sure, boss man. What mess you need 'ol Dutton to clean up now?_ " Another cackle came down the line.  
  
"I need you to deliver a message. A very important, very personal, very _private_ message. Think you can handle it?"  
  
" _No problem. You just tell me where you want this message delivered and I'm on it._ "  
  
"Not over the phone. You know where. Be there in half an hour."  
  
" _Sure thing, boss man._ "  
  
"Oh, and Dutton, one more thing... _stop calling me that._ "  
  
*  
  
Justin stood at the counter and made himself a turkey sandwich. The scent of Brian's shampoo wafted from his wet hair. He carried the sandwich over to Brian's desk and sat down in front of the computer. In the three weeks since the day Michael had helped him move back into the loft, none of his leads had turned up any evidence to link Stockwell to Brian's death.  
  
He took a bite of the sandwich and logged in to check his email, or rather, to check Brian's email. He deleted the slew of porn spam that had slipped through the filters and found he was left with one new message. It was a reply from one of the fifteen or so addresses Justin had not recognized in Brian's address book. His heart beat faster and the turkey and bread turned to sawdust and glue in his suddenly dry mouth. He forced himself to calm down. Chances were the email was from some trick Brian had met in one of the local chat rooms he frequented, but something about this particular message gave Justin hope. Maybe it was because the address wasn't pornographic, and included an actual name instead of a screen name. Whatever the reason, Justin's hand shook as he clicked the mouse to open the email:  
  
 _From:mattylarner@mailbox.pitt.edu  
To:BK5469@yahoo.com  
Subject: RE:Any help would be greatly appreciated  
  
If you can make it worth my while, I have some information I'm sure you'd be interested in.  
  
I need $500 in cash and NO ONE else is to know of our meeting.  
  
If these terms are agreeable meet me outside the Pizza Hut on the corner of Liberty and 6th tonight at 11:00 p.m._  
  
Justin hit reply and typed a one line response:  
  
 _I'll be there._  
  
He hit send and leaned back in the chair. Five hundred bucks was a lot to pay for another dead end, but he could afford it. It gave him a better feeling about the insurance money, since Michael had repeatedly refused any payment for the loft, to use it to help bring Stockwell down. He smiled at the thought. Bringing Brian's killer to justice was what he lived for now.  
  
*  
  
The kid's name is Taylor, Justin Taylor. Here's a picture and the address where you'll find him. But don't do it there. Follow him a while, see what else the little shit is up to and then _suggest_ he put a stop to it. Got me?"  
  
"Sure, sure. No problem," Dutton said, taking the glossy picture and slip of paper from Stockwell's gloved hand. "Mmm, pretty little piece, ain't he?"  
  
"Jesus H. Christ! Am I the only straight guy left in this fucking city?" Stockwell asked in disgust.  
  
"Get it any way you can, that's my motto. And don't go knockin' something you ain't tried, boss man." Dutton waggled his bushy eyebrows.  
  
"I told you not to call me that. Now get out of here before somebody sees us."  
  
"I'm gone." Dutton strutted off into the surrounding shadows.  
  
"Fucking fags," muttered Stockwell as the retreating figure was swallowed up by the dark.  
  
*  
  
Justin buttoned up his coat to ward off the chill from the wind. _Storm's brewing,_ he thought with a frown as he waited for his newest lead to show. The night air was heavy with the mingled smells of spicy pizza and rotting garbage from the dumpster behind him. He hoped the guys showed soon, he hadn't brought an umbrella and the impending rain was already creating moisture in the atmosphere.  
  
"Hey, you Taylor?"  
  
Justin turned to find a man about his own age and build with greasy dark hair and a face full of acne. "Yes, I'm Justin Taylor."  
  
The young man looked skeptical until Justin pulled a brown envelope from his pocket and handed it over. The guy opened it and fingered the crisp bills with the tenderness of a lover. He nodded once and stuffed the envelope in his jeans.  
  
"Look, man, I don't know how this is of any help to you, but I saw Brian Kinney on the night he was murdered. I used to work for the city, in the clerical department of the police station. Your man Kinney gave me...some money to find a piece of information for him."  
  
"What kind of information?" Justin knew from the why the guy hesitated over the amount, Brian had given him far less than the five hundred he had extorted for this little meeting.  
  
"Results of an autopsy. On that retired cop, Reichert. The one who offed himself a couple months ago."  
  
"Yeah, I know who he was. What did it say?"  
  
"Sorry, man, don't know. I grabbed the shit, copied it and handed it over with as little actual contact as possible. It was a _sealed_ file, man Figured the less I knew the better, all things considered. But I'll tell you who _else_ I saw that night...the esteemed mayor Stockwell."  
  
"Fuck, I knew it!" Justin exclaimed. "Did you see him pull the trigger?"  
  
"No," he blanched under the mask of reddish pimples. "I didn't hang around for the meeting. Like I told you, I didn't want to know what was going down. Fuck, I don't even know why I agreed to meet you. I mean, first that cop eats his exhaust, then Kinney winds up dead...this don't seem like the kinda situation that's doing anyone's health any good to be mixed up with."  
  
"So that's why you didn't take you story to the police?"  
  
The guy laughed. "Stockwell _owns_ this town now. He could be up to his fucking eyeballs in some shady shit...do you really think there's anything he can't get away with?"  
  
"He's not getting away with murder," Justin said passionately.  
  
"Well, good luck is all I can say, man."  
  
"Two more questions," Justin said when the guy started to take off.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You said you _used_ to work at the police station, what happened?"  
  
"The election happened, dude. No way was I sticking around looking over my shoulder with those two bodies in Stockwell's closet."  
  
"Three actually."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Nothing. Second question, how much would it take for you to go to the police with what you know?"  
  
"You don't have enough."  
  
"Try me."  
  
The sudden light of greed in the guy's eyes made Justin feel a surge of triumph, until the greed turned to fear."  
  
"No, man. I'm not that hard up for cash. I'll figure out another, _safer_ , way to pay for school. Look, as of this second I'm washing my hands of the whole thing. Do me a favor and _don't_ contact me again." He took off in a lopping jog without looking back.  
  
Justin balled his fist and hit the brick wall of the pizza place in frustration as the guy turned the corner of the block and rain began to fall.  



	4. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_Death ends a life, not a relationship.  
Jack Lemmon _  
  
Older than the Earth, more eternal than darkness is The Crow. Only two things matter to The Crow- love and vengeance. If both desires burn strong enough in the restless soul of one wronged, The Crow will hear. Six weeks after his pre-mature death, Brian Kinney called...and The Crow answered.  
  
Lungs, long since collapsed, filled with stale air. Shattered bone re-knitted itself, while organs began to function once more. Blood forced embalming fluid out through Brian's pores. Panic seized him as he came awake to find himself inside a coffin. A strange, yet familiar, voice in his head pushed aside the panic and said, _You're back for a purpose. You called me. Now get yourself out of that box so you can fulfill that purpose._  
  
Brian felt oddly calm as he busted the seal on the coffin lid, cracked open the concrete vault, and dug his way up through six feet of heavy dirt. He climbed out of the grave and saw a large black bird perched on his tombstone.  
  
 _Took you long enough,_ the bird cawed, but Brian heard the words in his head.  
  
He looked down at his dirt-covered hands and saw torn nails and broken, bleeding flesh. "It doesn't hurt," he said out loud in astonishment. The force of air caused him to choke and cough up a clod of black dirt.  
  
 _Of course not, you are beyond that kind of pain...unless you choose to feel it._  
  
Brian swung his gaze back to The Crow and then back to his hands. The flesh was mending before his eyes. In a few short seconds, all the torn skin was knitted; new nails grew into the nail beds.  
  
"What the fuck is going on?" Brian gasped.  
  
 _You called me._  
  
"Who are you? _What_ are you?"  
  
 _I am eternity. I am death. I am the sum of things your race has no understanding of...but right now, for you, I am life. Your soul refused to rest in peace, it cried incessantly for revenge, but also for the protection of the one you love._  
  
"Justin."  
  
 _He is in danger. You must avenge your death in order to save your lover's life._  
  
"Damn it. _Stockwell_. Where's Justin?"  
  
 _Do I look like a GPS system? Trust me, it is better if you do not see him. And it goes without saying that under no circumstance should you let him see you._  
  
"Not see him? I have to, I have to make sure he's alright."  
  
 _Brian, you are a literal walking corpse. You are not quite alive, not quite dead. You no longer belong to this world. It is your desire for revenge that binds you to this place...you will return to the grave as soon as you have that revenge. Do not torture yourself with things that can no longer be._  
  
Regret warred with resignation. Brian knew, could _feel_ the changes in his being. He was no longer Brian _Fucking_ Kinney, Stud of Liberty Avenue. He wasn't sure _what_ he was but enough of the old Brian was left to make the idea of never seeing Justin's smile, never hearing his voice, never touching him, _never being inside him again_ a nearly unbearable thought.  
  
 _You want him to be safe, yes?_  
  
"Yes."  
  
 _To live a full life...even if it is a life that does not include you?_  
  
"Yes," Brian said, a steely resolve hardening his voice.  
  
 _Then you must destroy Stockwell._  
  
  
*  
  
Justin hunched his shoulders forward against the driving rain but didn't hurry his steps. He needed to think about his next move. The DNA proof of Reichert's involvement with Jason Kemp was locked up in a bank deposit box for safety, but Justin knew it wasn't enough to stir more than a few rumors now that Stockwell was mayor. If he couldn't tie Stockwell to Brian's murder then the asshole would never be put away.  
  
The mailroom guy was right. It would just be his word against Stockwell's if he went to the police. Horvath was no help. He believed, along with Michael and all the others, that Justin was just overwrought by Brian's death and looking for an answer to something that had none. They all accepted the mugging story without question. But Justin knew with a feeling that ran bone deep, Stockwell murdered Brian. However, proving it was another matter. He was fast running out of ideas on how to nail the bastard.  
  
"Hey, Blondie, don't you even have sense enough to get out of the rain?"  
  
"Fuck off," Justin mumbled at the soggy, brown trench-coated man as he passed by.  
  
"Whoa. Come back here sweetheart, we have something to discuss."  
  
Justin ignored the man and picked up the pace. He wished he had been more aware of the route he was walking, wished he had stuck to more populated streets with better lighting.  
  
Dutton quickly caught up to Justin and grabbed the smaller man by the arm.  
  
"Look, kid, I'm not any more thrilled about this than you...you think I got no better way to spend a Friday night? And don't even get me started on the motherfucking rain. Sheesh." He planted himself firmly in front of Justin and tightened his grip in a warning.  
  
"What do you want?" Justin looked up into the stranger's face. The man's shaved head glistened, wet with rain, under the dim sodium streetlight. Small gold hoops, four in each ear, outlined the curve of his lobes. His age was hard for Justin to gauge; possibly he was in his late thirties, or early forties. He was broad shouldered and heavily built. A snake tattoo curled up his thick neck from under the collar of his shirt. He had bad teeth and hard eyes. Justin tried to pull away but the stranger's fingers dug into his arm through the fabric of his jacket.  
  
"I need to give you a message. _Someone_ don't like the nosey way you been poking into things you ought to be leaving alone."  
  
"So Stockwell knows I'm onto him." Justin couldn't help the note of triumph that tinted his voice.  
  
"Blondie, that's a supreme example of just why my services have been retained. You got a big fucking mouth, kid."  
  
"Do you realize you're working for a murderer?"  
  
"You think?" Dutton asked, a dangerous smile curving the corners of his mouth.  
  
"I know. And I'm going to prove it."  
  
"With help from your pizza-faced friend back there?"  
  
"You've been following me!"  
  
"No shit."  
  
"Stay the fuck away from me," Justin said evenly.  
  
"Baby, you ain't in any position to be giving orders. You're the one who needs to stay the fuck outta my _employer's_ business."  
  
"You can tell that _motherfucker_ he's not getting away with murder."  
  
Dutton shook his head and clicked his tongue as if dealing with an unruly child. "It isn't nice to call people names. In fact, it can be downright dangerous. Sweetheart, this here is a warning..."  
  
Justin never saw the punch coming. It caught him in his solar plexus and dropped him to his knees. Dutton took advantage of the weakness and aimed a sharp kick in the same place. Justin toppled over and the sadistic henchman continued to kick him in the stomach and kidneys until Justin puked and fell onto his back unmoving.  
  
"Listen up in there, Blondie. I repeat, _this_ was a warning. Keep your sweet little ass outta where it don't belong or next time the _message_ I deliver will cause lasting damage."  
  
Barely conscious, Justin wondered if there wasn't already some permanent damage. He focused on breathing and staying awake; his torso was on fire and he thought he might throw up again any second. He gingerly rolled over onto all fours and promptly fell on his face into a puddle of rainwater. He coughed and sputtered, then thought he might die as wave after wave of shooting pain racked his body. Never before had he felt such physical agony.  
  
He heard his attacker laugh and then the sound of footsteps receding down the deserted sidewalk.  
  
Time passed. Justin didn't know if it was minutes or hours before he was able to crawl to his knees and eventually get up on his feet. He wiped the wet hair out of his face and took two steps before he had to stop and retch again. A thin stream of stringy bile, pink with blood, mixed with the oily runoff in the gutter. The swirling water made him dizzy, so he looked away...and came face to face with the grinning image of Jim Stockwell. The campaign poster was fading and torn around the edges.  
  
Heedless of his injuries, Justin reached up and ripped the poster off the wall, wadded it up and tossed it in the gutter. He shrugged off the physical pain; replacing it was a deep sense of loss, grief, and anger that was always right below the surface. He concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other and made his way back to the loft.  
  
*  
  
"Fucking rain," Brian said as he walked along, shivering in the thin, black tee shirt and jeans he had swiped from a nearby clothing store. He still wore his Gucci loafers, but the rest of the clothes he had been buried in were shredded and became caked in mud as soon as the rain began.  
  
 _I told you to take a coat as well._  
  
"Those things were hideous. I'd rather freeze," Brian said in disgust.  
  
 _As you wish,_ The Crow seemed to sigh. _I do no know why you mortals are so fond of holding on to old habits- like feeling the cold. But I suppose it helps keep your senses alert, and that is good._  
  
"Ah, wait. _That's_ more like it." Brian stopped in front of a window displaying a selection of leather goods. He had his eye on a long, black leather trench coat being worn by a headless mannequin.  
  
 _Hurry up, then,_ The Crow replied, flying swiftly up to the corner of the building and using his sharp beak to snip the alarm wires.  
  
Brian pulled off his tee shirt, wrapped it around his hand and smashed through the glass door. Then he reached in and flipped the lock. Inside, he shook the glass out of the soggy shirt and slipped it back on before grabbing the coat off the dummy and shrugging into it.  
  
"Perfect fit," he told the bird who flew in and perched on his shoulder.  
  
 _Very nice. Now I suggest we get out of here. You have more important things to do than worry about your appearance._  
  
" _Nothing_ is more important than appearance," he said, a trace of the old Brian Kinney pomp and circumstance. "I need one more thing," he told The Crow, looking pointedly to the pawnshop across the street.  
  
He picked the snub-nosed .38 from the display case and a box of shells from the lock box behind the counter that The Crow pointed him to. He loaded the gun and stuck it in one of his coat pockets; he shoved a handful of shells in the other one.  
  
"Now I feel fully dressed for the occasion," he said with a dark grin.  
  
*  
  
Waiting for the stoplight to change, Dutton sat back in the Caddy's plush leather seat and thought about the kid. Not Blondie, the other one. The pimply-faced one Blondie met behind the pizza joint. He wondered if he should tell Stockwell about the little meeting. It could mean a bigger pay off if the punk had something on the boss man that would require a longer engagement of Dutton's services.  
  
In fact, Dutton had a little bit of a trick up his sleeve on that score. A plan began to form in his head on the way to his destination. He knew you could never be too careful when dealing with _politicians_.  



	5. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_And the movement in your brain  
Sends you out into the rain.  
Nick Drake Things Behind the Sun_  
  
"Working late I see, boss man. Makes a citizen feel all _protected_ to know the mayor is too dedicated to punch a time clock."  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" Stockwell asked, pulling Dutton by the arm into the stairwell and out of sight of the City Hall parking garage entrance, even though the building was deserted at this time of night, save for the two men facing one other.  
  
"Hey, watch the threads, this here's a new suit...that you're paying for."  
  
"I don't give a fuck about your suit," Stockwell gritted through his teeth. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!"  
  
"Is that any way to talk to your _partner_?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I did that little errand you sent me on alright. Told a certain someone not to stick his nose where it don't belong 'less he wants it, and the rest of his pretty personage, messed up in a decidedly permanent way."  
  
"Good. That concludes our...association then. You take the rest of your payment and we'll be done with this business."  
  
"Oh, hold your horses there, my friend. We have a few more things to discuss. See, I was thinking it might me nice to be on payroll, regular-like," Dutton smiled, his reptilian face twisted up in a nasty smile.  
  
Stockwell laughed. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Dutton? Don't bother. You've got nothing on me."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure, boss man. 'Ol Dutton's real good at puttin' two and two together...seems to me it was a good idea to hang on to that piece you hired me to dispose of. You know, the one you shot one Brian Kinney with."  
  
"You bastard. What do you mean you held on to the gun?"  
  
"Just what I said. Didn't run it through the same rigorous process as I do for my usual clients. Figured, what with you being such an _important_ man and all, might be interesting to find out what I was helping to cover up before I _got in too deep_."  
  
"What makes you think I won't kill you?" Stockwell asked, dropping any pretense of civility or innocence.  
  
"I'm more good to you alive...as a partner in crime, so to speak. You don't know for sure the Taylor kid won't ignore the warning and need to be handled more firmly. Got your lily white hands dirty enough already, don'tcha, Mr. Mayor? Seems sensible to uh, keep me on retainer for any more _little jobs_ that should arise in the future. Oh, by the way, your boy Taylor's found himself a new playmate. Don't know exactly what went down, but the other kid had a real _hungry_ look about him...seemed to be in possession of some information that made him real uncomfortable. Information Taylor was more than happy to pay for. You might want to be looking into that."  
  
 _Dammit!_ Inwardly, Stockwell fumed but he tapped down his fury before he spoke. "I know him. He worked in the precinct mailroom. He stole some sealed records. Name's Matthew Larner. He's a student at Pittsburgh University. Take care of it, Dutton. Find him. Get rid of him."  
  
"You got it, boss. Guess this means we got ourselves a business deal."  
  
Stockwell hated the idea of being in league with this scum but already he saw the advantage to having someone to handle the _hands on_ aspect of the job that must be done. He didn't make the mistake of actually trusting the man in front of him, but he felt safe enough with the pull he now had as mayor. "Yes, we have a deal."  
  
"Good. Now, us being honorable men and all, how about we shake on it?" Dutton held out his right hand.  
  
"It seems we've inadvertently reached an understanding," Stockwell said as he gripped Dutton's hand to seal the deal. "You keep your trap shut and make yourself available to me for any jobs that crop up in the future, and I won't alert the new Police Chief, who happens to be a close, personal friend of mine, to the chop shop you operate down in the old warehouse district."  
  
Now it was Dutton's turn to laugh. "You think your comrades don't know my business? Let me tell you something, Stockwell...you may have refused a bribe or two on your way to the top, but the new Chief is more that willing to, shall we say, look the other way, has been for quite some time. For the right price of course. We all have our price, even you, huh, boss man?"  
  
"What's yours, Dutton? How much is this _partnership_ going to cost me?"  
  
*  
  
The rain was relentless. It poured from the sky in cold, icy torrents and plastered Brian's hair to his skull. He turned the corner and headed east towards Liberty Avenue. The Crow who had been flying high above him suddenly swooped down and landed on a railing in front of Brian.  
  
 _You must not go there._  
  
"Why?"  
  
 _He must not see you. You agreed._  
  
"He's at the loft?"  
  
 _Yes. He lives there now._  
  
The thought pleased Brian. He had fully intended to ask Justin to move back in...eventually. His pride, his ego, whatever stupid thing he chose to call it, had still been smarting over the fiddler fiasco. A niggling fear of a repeat had been the only obstacle to making their living arrangements official again.  
  
"I need to see him."  
  
 _Not a good idea._  
  
"Because you say so?" A battle of wills occurred between Brian and the bird. Hazel eyes locked with shiny black ones. Finally, the bird squawked in anger and flew a short way away in defeat.  
  
Brian covered the distance to the loft in no time. He stood on the street and looked up at the lit windows, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he refused to name. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, Brian jumped up, straight up with his newfound preternatural strength, to the tiny ledge outside his window and crouched down. To anyone passing, the shadowy figure perched high above the ground might appear to be contemplating death. However, people in cities rarely look up, and certainly never in the driving rain.  
  
The interior of the loft was dimly lit but Brian could see Justin sitting at the desk in the corner, his blonde head bent over a drawing on the table. Brian's fingertips touched the cold glass. He wiped away the beading rain and wished it was soft skin under his hand. Ten minutes passed and nothing moved save Justin's furiously moving hand. It flew over sheet after sheet of paper with a fluid movement that belied the speed of the art pouring out. Brian wondered what was so important to record, what thoughts possessed his lover to the single-mindedness he now displayed.  
  
Another ten minutes passed before Justin threw down the pen and carefully stretched his obviously cramping fingers while he massaged his elbow and forearm. Brian's fingers itched to do the job for him, the way he would when Justin came home exhausted from pushing himself too hard in still life class, or after staying up all night with Michael working on panels for Rage.  
  
Justin pushed away from the desk and stood with slow, careful movements. He wrapped his left arm around his middle as he made his way to the bedroom. Brian frowned. Justin grabbed the hem of the white tee shirt he wore over a pair of Brian's sweats and yanked it over his head, a grimace of pain contorting his beautiful face.  
  
Brian sucked in a breath at the sight of Justin's bare torso covered in red and purple bruises.  
  
"Shit," he whispered as Justin turned to climb into bed and he caught sight of his back. More marks mottled the creamy white skin. Brian knew from his own run in with Craig Taylor's foot, once upon a time, that the marks came from being repeatedly kicked. A red haze filled his vision and he smiled savagely as he thought about what he would do to Stockwell when he got his hands on the man.  
  
 _Have you seen enough?_  
  
Brian closed his eyes and swallowed back his rage. The truth, sharper than any knife, more piercing than a bullet, slammed into him with a resounding thud in the region of his heart. _He would never see enough of Justin._ The emotion he had always refused to name, refused to believe in, was as crystal clear as the rain drops falling from the say. Now that it no longer mattered, now, when he couldn't do anything about it, he could say it. He could _feel_ it. _I love you..._ he whispered brokenly.  
  
Justin shifted and turned toward the window. Brian gasped and drew back, out of sight. The heart that shouldn't be beating at all was racing. _He couldn't have heard me._  
  
 _Brian. You need to come away now._ The Crow's wings flapped impatiently.  
  
"No. Not yet."  
  
 _It is time._  
  
"I'm dead. I have all the time in the world," Brian said as he jumped from the ledge to the street below in a single, fluid movement. "I just want a quick look at something, then I'll go." He turned the corner and went to the door of the building. A quick jiggle of the handle and the locked door swung open. It wasn't by force of the supernatural, but rather the quirk of an extremely old lock.  
  
The Crow cawed his displeasure from outside the door but Brian ignored it. He bounded up the stairs and automatically reached for the spare key hidden above the door. It was still there. He held the key in his palm and thought about the life he no longer had. He would never pass through this door again after tonight. Would never come home with Justin, or to Justin, again. Of all the nevers- never again hearing Gus call him 'Dada,' never teasing Mikey for being such a geek, never picking up another trick, never tasting Deb's lasagna- of all things he would never again experience, the one that tore at him most was never again coming through this door to find Justin waiting for him...never again seeing his Sunshine smile.  
  
Pushing the maudlin thoughts away, Brian carefully put the key in the lock and opened the door. He pushed the heavy steel only far enough to squeeze through, not wanting to risk making enough noise to wake Justin.  
  
A wave of homecoming washed over him. He stood still, his eyes seeking out the form of his lover tangled in the dark sheets. Brian didn't dare breathe as he took a step closer to the bedroom. Justin didn't move. He stopped himself from taking another step in that direction. It was too tempting. Instead, he moved silently to the desk where Justin had sat earlier. The lamp was still on, illuminating the numerous pages of hastily drawn sketches. Brian picked up one of the pages for a better look and had to cover his mouth to keep the laughter from bubbling out. He scanned the rest, sure enough, all were the same. At least in theme. _Stockwell_. Each and every one depicted Stockwell dead or dying in some imaginative way. Decapitated, disemboweled, flayed, dismembered, and a variety of other even more gruesome demises covered the sheets of paper.  
  
"A little too gory for the 'art house' crowd, but you've really nailed the blood splatter, very realistic," Brian said, looking up into the blue eyes he was never meant to see again.  
  
"What the fuck?! _Brian!_ This can't be happening..." Justin said right before he fainted.  
  
"Hell," Brian said under his breath as he dashed over and scooped Justin up into his arms and carried the unconscious body over to the bed, gently laying him down and checking for any _new_ injuries.  
  
He ran his fingers through Justin's hair, over his ear and along the side of his face, then across his parted lips. Brian inhaled the scent that haunted his dreams, even in death, and leaned over to place a light kiss on the lips of his lover. He knew he should get up and get out before Justin came to, he certainly didn't want to freak him out any more than he already had, however, he found he couldn't force his limbs to move _away_ from the oh-so-familiar body beneath him. He slid a fraction of an inch closer, close enough to feel the heat of Justin's flesh. He cupped his hand around Justin's bare shoulder and then ran the tip of his index finger over Justin's Technicolor chest and ribcage. When the pink nipples beaded under his feather light touch, Brian knew it was time to leave.  
  
But he had waited too long. With a soft moan of confusion, Justin opened his eyes.  
  
"Brian."  
  
"Sunshine."  
  
"What happened? I don't understand...how is this possible" You're...you're dead."  
  
"Yep."  
  
Justin shook his head against the soft pillow and rubbed a hand over his disbelieving eyes. "So how are you here?"  
  
"Wouldn't believe me if I told you, Sunshine. Hell, I don't believe it myself."  
  
"Is this real, are you real?"  
  
"Honestly, I don't fucking know anymore."  
  
"Are you a ghost?"  
  
"Boo," Brian whispered.  
  
"Can I touch you?"  
  
"I really, _really_ wish you would."  
  
Justin licked his lips and scooted up on his elbows. He reached a tentative hand out and stopped a few inches shy of Brian's face. He took a deep breath while Brian waited patiently, saying nothing. Justin rubbed his fingertips together and brushed them against Brian's jaw.  
  
Brian's eyelids fluttered. He turned his face into Justin's palm and covered Justin's hand with his own.  
  
"You're warm."  
  
"Downright on fire," Brian smiled.  
  
"I thought your skin might be...cold."  
  
"I'm not a vampire."  
  
" _What_ are you?"  
  
"Fuck if I know. But I'm _here_ , right now, and I'm flesh and blood...more or less."  
  
Justin slid his hand down to Brian's chest and over his heart. He could feel the steady beat against his palm through the material of Brian's tee shirt. He smiled and moved down to rest his ear against the same spot. The beautiful _th-thump, th-thump_ sound sped up. He laid back and looked up into Brian's eyes while he reached for Brian's hand and placed it over his own heart. The rapid tattoo was in sync with Brian's.  
  
Brian looked at his hand on Justin's skin. His palm partially covered a purple contusion in the shape of a steel-toed boot.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Brian told him, unable to explain that the apology was for so much more than the beating he had received. He was sorry for so many things he didn't know how to articulate, so many missed opportunities and shattered moments.  
  
"Don't be. Just touch me," Justin said just before he covered Brian's lips with his own.  
  
The kiss deepened. For a split second as Justin's tongue ran across Brian's teeth, he swore he tasted _dirt_ , then the sensation was gone, there was nothing but Brian's smoky taste and the slick heat he knew so well.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Brian pulled away to ask. He had to do it now or he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. "You're not too sore?...or too freaked out?"  
  
"Don't let me think about either one, make me forget the pain...all of it," Justin whispered, wrapping his arms around Brian's neck and pulling his head down. He was beyond caring _how_ or _why_ this was happening, being in Brian's arms again overrode all other conscious thought. It felt good, it felt safe...it felt _right_. That was all that mattered to Justin.  
  
Brian shrugged out of his coat between kisses. Justin pulled the tee shirt over Brian's head and tossed it aside. They made the work of shedding the rest of their clothes a teasing game- licking and nibbling, and sucking at the skin they revealed.  
  
Breathless, Justin rolled onto his side and reached for lube and a condom. He handed the tube to Brian, but held the little square packet between his thumb and index finger, looking from it to Brian.  
  
"Do we need this?" he asked in bewilderment. "I mean, you're..." he couldn't finish the sentence; it was too surreal and a shade creepy.  
  
"Um," Brian was at a loss for words. He had no idea what, if anything, he could pass on to Justin in this state. _Is death communicable?_ , he wondered briefly, then stopped thinking about it because it made the whole fact of his existence that much more bizarre. He followed the innate instinct to protect Justin he always had and reached for the condom.  
  
"It can never hurt to be on the safe side," he said as he ripped open the corner of the packet with his teeth and sheathed his cock.  
  
The lube was cold, Brian's fingers warm, as he worked them inside Justin's body. Once Justin's tight hole was sufficiently wet, Brian positioned the head of his cock at the entrance and pushed in slowly. Both men moaned. Justin had jerked off numerous times, and had even been sucked off in the alley behind Babylon twice since Brian's death, but no one else had fucked him.  
  
It was a strange sensation at first, uncomfortable but not painful like the first time. Brian gave them both time to adjust to the sensations of filling and being filled before he slid his dick out until he felt the contracting muscles clenching at his knob and sank back in to the hilt.  
  
He couldn't maintain the slow rhythm for more than a few minutes; it had been too long since he had been engulfed by Justin's familiar heat, since he had tasted the salty sweat of skin, thrilled to the sweet little moans he knew exactly how to elicit. As he increased the tempo, his hand snaked around and closed over Justin's fingers, already stroking his engorged cock.  
  
Brian kissed the back of Justin's neck, licked his shoulder, and whispered words of lusty encouragement in his ear. Justin reciprocated by reaching back and threading his fingers through Brian's hair and turning his mouth to Brian's seeking tongue.  
  
With a final series of deep thrusts, Brian came hard and fast, his orgasm triggering Justin's. They lay, unmoving and spent, Brian careful not to put any weight on Justin's battered body. When their racing hearts had a chance to slow down, Brian pulled out of Justin and discarded the used condom. Justin turned to him and ran his hands through his hair...noticing for the first time the small pink, puckered scar in the middle of Brian's forehead.  
  
"Does it still hurt?" Justin asked in child-like awe, concern and fascination mingled with horror.  
  
"No. At least, not physically," Brian answered with a sad smile. "Don't cry, Sunshine, please don't cry," he whispered as big, round tears fell down Justin's cheeks.  
  
"Dammit, Brian, I just wish...why didn't you tell me what you were up to? Why the fuck did you have to go alone?" The hurt was more than evident in his voice.  
  
"Justin...Stockwell surprised me. I honestly didn't think he had it in him to kill me. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry." He shrugged. " And maybe part of me knew what could happen...I also didn't tell you because I didn't want to risk you getting hurt."  
  
"But I did hurt, Brian. Part of me died when you did."  
  
"I know. It's the part that brought me back." Brian licked his lips and fought the same old barriers that made opening up, being vulnerable, so hard. "Justin...I never deserved your love...but I'm damn grateful for it."  
  
Justin choked back a sob and pulled Brian down to him.  



	6. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_You return to where you began. And if you are lucky you will be left with one or more black feathers. With these quills of night you may barter for all the meaning in your life.  
-A.A. Attanasio From the forward to The Crow:  
Shattered Lives and Broken Dreams_  
  
The cawing of The Crow outside his window awakened Brian. He checked to make sure Justin was asleep. The even, steady breathing reassured him of it. Brian went to the window, a scowl evident on his face in the pre-dawn light.  
  
 _You should have heeded my advice, mortal. You should not have seen him._  
  
"Dammit, bird! Give me a fucking break! Look, the damage is already done, he's seen me. We've fucked. So how about you fuck off and later I'll take whatever punishment there is for breaking the 'don't let them see you' rule." Brian started to turn away when the Crow's voice spoke softly, sadly to him.  
  
 _You misunderstand. The damage you have done cannot be repaired._  
  
"What the hell are you squawking about?"  
  
 _I warned you and you failed to listen. The rules, such as they are, are not to protect you, but him. The punishment will not be yours, it will be Justin's._  
  
"That's bullshit! I'm the one who broke the damn rule, _I'm_ the one who should pay for it."  
  
 _It makes no difference what you think mortal, that is the way things are._  
  
"What will happen to him?"  
  
 _I do not know. Events have already been set in motion._  
  
"There has to be something I can do, I'm here to protect him for fuck's sake!"  
  
 _Then the best thing you can do is leave him, now, before he wakes. Maybe he will remember and think it was a dream...you must hope so._  
  
"Damn."  
  
*  
  
Justin awoke feeling more content that he had in over a month and he knew exactly why. _Brian._ He smiled and shifted onto his back, his ribs protesting at the movement. The smile faded when he realized he was alone in the bed. He looked around the loft and listened for sounds that would indicate signs of life, or whatever Brian was, but he was definitely alone. Brian's smell lingering on the sheets and the delicious soreness of the recent possession of his body were the only indications Justin had that he wasn't losing his mind and hadn't imagined the encounter.  
  
 _On the other hand_ , he thought, _Last night I did meet with the next-to-last person to see Brian alive, got the shit kicked out of me by Stockwell's lackey, and spent the rest of the night making love with my supposedly dead boyfriend. Maybe I'm not the best judge of sanity right now._  
  
*  
  
"Jim honey, don't forget to take out the trash when you go" Linda Stockwell called to her husband from the kitchen.  
  
"I never do, dear," he said with a teasing smile, coming up behind her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Gotta go, I've got a meeting with the School Superintendent in less than an hour. He grabbed the bag of garbage by the door in one hand and his briefcase in the other.  
  
"Oh, honey, I nearly forgot. You had a visitor while you were in the shower, but he didn't want to wait, he said he'd catch up with you later."  
  
"A visitor?"  
  
"Yes. It was that man from the Vanguard Agency you had fired from your campaign, Mr. Kinney, right? Anyway, I'll bet he's looking to get back in your good graces so you'll get him his job back. Such a shame, about him being gay, I mean. He's such a handsome man."  
  
Stockwell felt the color drain from his face. "Dear, I think you made a mistake, it couldn't have been _him_."  
  
"No, I recognized him right away. Mostly because he looked so different from when he was here filming the commercial. Today he was all disheveled and...I don't know, crumpled looking. Maybe he's sleeping in his car. Oh, Jim, you don't think he's homeless do you? Maybe you should get him his job back," she said worriedly.  
  
"That's impossible, Linda. I'm afraid Brian Kinney is dead. Tragic circumstances, but it goes to show how dangerous his sort of lifestyle is. He was mugged and shot, presumably on his way home from one of those _clubs_ he was so fond of. Forensics said he died right away, happened about a month ago. So you see, you _had_ to have made a mistake. _It couldn't have been him_."  
  
Linda looked at her husband with wide, stunned eyes for a moment before her rational brain kicked in and she decided she had indeed miss-identified the stranger at the door. "You're right, I must had made a mistake. He never actually told me his name, I just sort of thought he looked a little like that Mr. Kinney...around the eyes, but of course it couldn't of been him. The man I saw this morning was _very much alive_."  
  
"Never mind, darling, I'm sure it was nothing. Otherwise, they would have left a message. Now, I have to run; I'll see you tonight, dear."  
  
Stockwell drove to City Hall and parked in his reserved space. He took the elevator up to his office and greeted his PA with his usual cheery, "morning, Donald." But as soon as he was alone in his office, he let the chill that he had been holding at bay run through his body. _Kinney is dead,_ he reminded himself logically. _It's that damn Taylor kid. He's set this up, he's fucking with me._ Stockwell slammed his fist down on the desk and let out a curse. He couldn't afford this distraction; he only had a few minutes to pull himself together before his meeting.  
  
"Enough of this," he said aloud and reached for his cell phone. He dialed the number slowly, relishing the moment that would put all this behind him once and for all.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"The message didn't get through. I need you to deal with the problem. _Permanently._ "  
  
"Two for one, then. I'm on it, boss."  
  
Stockwell smiled as he punched the button to end the call. He didn't notice the slight tremor in his hand, or hear the whispered comments as he made his way to the boardroom to meet with the Superintendent.  
  
"What's wrong with Jim? He looks like he's seen a ghost."  
  
*  
  
Dutton sighed as he prepared for his next step of the job. He almost wished it hadn't come to this, he wasn't a killer by nature, and he liked the Taylor kid's moxy. But a deal was a deal. He would off Blondie and dispose of the body, then he could kick back and collect his regular pay for a job well done.  
  
He did a quick inventory of the contents of his bag- gloves, rope, duct tape, _check_. And the plastic was already spread out over the concrete floor in the warehouse. All he had to do was pick Taylor up, bring him back here and do the job.  
  
 _It shouldn't be this easy_ , he thought, somewhat philosophically followed by, _Ah well, all in a day's work._  
  
He knew where to find Justin. He had everything he needed. Everything was in place. He flipped on the safety of the gun Stockwell had shot Kinney with. It seemed poetic to him that it would also be the weapon used to kill his boyfriend.  
  
*  
  
Justin checked the address on slip of paper in his hand against the numbers on the buildings. He was close. Another half a block and he came to the apartment complex where he was supposed to meet Matt, the contact from the night before. Justin was surprised to hear from him, he had thought for sure when the guy turned down his offer of more money the night before that he had seen the last of him. _Guess his greed overcame his fear after all_. Justin walked around the gate and to the back of the complex to 12 D where he knocked on the door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Justin turned the knob and pushed open the door. The small room reeked of cooking odors and mildew. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the harsh sunlight outside to the murky glow cast by the single, bare bulb in the center of the room.  
  
Matt was sitting on the ratty couch, his posture oddly angled. He looked up at Justin miserably, dark rings under his bloodshot eyes.  
  
"Sorry, man...so sorry," he mumbled as his head lolled to the side.  
  
The flight instinct kicked in and Justin turned to flee, but the door slammed shut and Dutton stepped out of the shadows.  
  
"Good of you to show up on time, Blondie. Another twenty minutes or so and our friend over there wouldn't have been able to play his part. Only one line, but it was rather important."  
  
"What have you done to him?"  
  
"Me? Hey, can't hold me responsible if the kid has developed a sudden and unfortunately _deadly_ taste for drugs."  
  
Justin looked back to Matt and noticed the rubber bands around the guy's skinny upper arm. A trickle of dried blood stained the inside of his elbow and trailed down to his wrist. An empty syringe lay on the cushion beside him.  
  
"Shit. Stay awake, Matt. I'll call an ambulance." Justin took a quick look around for the phone and spotted it on a small table by the wall. He made a move towards it, but Dutton stopped him by grabbing the back of his shirt.  
  
"Not so fast there, sweetheart. You and I have other plans."  
  
"Let me go! He needs help."  
  
"Kid, he's beyond help. Start worrying about yourself." Dutton punched Justin in his already damaged ribs with his gloved fist and when he went down, Dutton reached for the roll of duct tape in his bag. He tore a piece off and covered Justin's mouth, then pulled his arms in front of him and taped them together. He did the same with Justin's ankles.  
  
"Time to get this show on the road." He put the tape back in the bag and threw the strap over his head before picking Justin up and tossing him over his shoulder, fireman style. He carried him through the apartment and out the back door where a blue van was waiting.  
  
Justin struggled against his bonds to no avail. He had no idea where Dutton was taking him; he was face down in the back of the cargo van and couldn't see where they were heading. When the van finally came to a stop, Justin managed to roll over on his back.  
  
A gun was shoved in his face, followed by Dutton's yellow smile.  
  
"Just so you know, I've got a gun," he pressed the barrel under Justin's chin. "And I _will_ be using it." He pulled Justin up and once again slung him over his shoulder and carried him into the empty warehouse he had already prepared for their arrival.  
  
He took Justin over to the plastic sheeting he had spread out and stood him up on his feet. Then he reached up for the huge pulley with a hook on the end above them. He put Justin's bound hands over the hook and walked the few feet over to the crank and hoisted Justin up onto his tiptoes.  
  
"I'm guessing you already know what this is about, don't you?"  
  
Justin's eyes blazed with hate.  
  
"My boss, _Stockwell_ , is fed up with you. He's done with playing nice...so, here we are."  
  
Dutton raised the gun and fired, shooting Justin in the stomach.  
  
It felt like a hot poker had been shoved through his gut. Justin screamed but it came out muffled behind the gag. He could see the wound. At the angle he was trussed, he couldn't avoid seeing it. Blood welled as if in slow motion and oozed out of the hole. Justin felt sick, but willed the bile back. After a few seconds the blood became a steady stream. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight but opened them again almost immediately when he felt himself moving. Dutton was lowering his feet.  
  
"Don't go passing out on me now, you hear? We're just getting started," Dutton said, removing Justin's arms from the hook. He lowered the bleeding man to the floor and cut the tape from his ankles and wrists.  
  
"I'm trusting you won't try to run...because then I'd have to shoot you in the back, and I don't consider that very _honorable_." He leaned over and stripped the tape from Justin's mouth.  
  
Justin screamed again.  
  
*  
  
"I can't believe you leave your car unlocked, Jim. And you a _former_ cop. I'd think you of all people would know better." Brian smiled when the lighter popped, causing Jim to jump. He reached for it and touched the glowing end to the tip of the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling and blowing a stream of smoke, sighing in delight. "You don't mind do you?" he asked raising an eyebrow. "I know they're a bad habit...always thought they'd kill me one day. Guess I don't have to worry about that now, huh Jim?"  
  
"What the fuck is going on?" Stockwell demanded, his face ashen. "You can't be him...Kinney's dead."  
  
Brian laughed. " _Dead_ is such a subjective term these days."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Let's cut the fucking melodramatics, okay?" Brian brushed back the hair from his forehead and showed Stockwell the scar from the bullet hole.  
  
"It can't be..."  
  
"You've been a naughty boy, Jim. First you cover up Jason Kemp's death, then when the guilt got to Reichert and he wanted to turn himself in...you killed him. Not a very friendly thing to do. Not to mention how you blew me away," Brian pointed his index and middle fingers at Stockwell's temple and made a firing sound. Stockwell flinched but keep his eyes trained on Brian.  
  
"And now you're gunning for Justin. I'm not happy about that, Jim. Well, maybe I am just a _tad_ gleeful. See, Jim, you were going to die anyway," Brian smiled, "but thanks to those bruises Justin's sporting, you get to die much, much more painfully."  
  
"Fuck you, whoever the hell you are!" Stockwell reached for the door handle but Brian was quicker. His hand closed like a steel band around Stockwell's wrist.  
  
"What's you hurry, Jim? The fun's just starting." He leaned over and pulled the seatbelt across Stockwell. It fastened with a loud 'click'. "What's say we go somewhere a little more private?"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere with you," he ground out.  
  
"There's that anti-social attitude again. Where's it coming from? You used to be such a people person, Jim." Brian put out his cigarette in the ashtray then reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. "It doesn't really matter to me where we do this...I can start by severing your vocal chords so no one can hear you scream." Brian spoke as if discussing the weather, but the unholy gleam in his eye bespoke the violence he was truly capable of.  
  
He unfolded the paper, one handed, still holding Stockwell's wrist firmly in his other, and held it up proudly. "This was my favorite. Justin's imagination is apparently as limitless as his talent."  
  
It was one of the drawings Justin had done the previous night. In it, Stockwell was staked out on the desert floor by large spikes through his hands and feet. His body cavity was open wide; his organs glistened wetly in the white-hot light of the blazing sun. A large black bird was sitting on his exposed ribcage, sucking up a loop of intestine like a fat, juicy worm. But the most disturbing thing about the scene was that in it, _Stockwell was still alive_. Terror glazed his eyes and his gaping mouth and straining tongue portrayed his soundless screams.  
  
"Nice likeness, don't you think? Unfortunately, we don't have any desert nearby...but we do have the bird. Just then, The Crow landed on the hood of the car and cawed a warning to Brian.  
  
 _Justin needs you._  
  
Panic welled up inside Stockwell and came out as hysterical laughter. He grabbed the drawing from Brian's fingers and ripped it to shreds. "You don't scare me, you fucking freak. And your little piece of artist ass is being taken care of right now. "You can kill me, maybe I'm already dead, but I'll see you _both_ in hell. You can't save him...you're too late," Stockwell laughed.  
  
"Where is he?" Brian asked The Crow.  
  
"You're fucking crazier than I thought if you think I'm telling you anything," Stockwell said, assuming Brian was asking him.  
  
Brian's lip curled into a snarl as he turned to Stockwell. "Shut the fuck up!" he shouted, grabbing the man by a handful of hair and smashing the side of his head into the driver's side window with enough force behind the single blow to knock him unconscious.  
  
He unfastened the seatbelt and switched places with Stockwell, throwing the man into the passenger seat like a rag doll.  
  
"Where is he?" he repeated to the bird perched on the hood of the car.  
  
 _This way._  
  
Brian started the car and followed The Crow who flew high above the streets, guiding Brian to the place where Justin was. The Crow flew towards the river front, to the old warehouse district, where most of the buildings stood empty except for the few laid claim to by the homeless population and the odd self-starter looking to save a buck or two on rent by leasing the places long since abandoned by new industry boom in the late eighties.  
  
The Crow did a sudden, stunningly acrobatic dive pulling up neatly to land on fence outside of the building he was directing Brian to.  
  
 _In there._  
  
Desperation was beginning to take hold of Brian as he jumped out of the car and pulled out the loaded gun hidden in the back of his waistband. He reached in the car and grabbed Stockwell by the collar, dragging the unconscious man behind him with no effort at all.  
  
*  
  
Justin was dying. He knew he was dying and the knowledge held no fear for him. He had regrets- he hated what the people who loved him were going to go through, and he felt a slight pang at knowing he would never paint another canvas, or ever see his work hanging in a New York gallery. But mostly he regretted not bringing Stockwell down.  
  
"Gunshot wounds to the stomach are a bitch, aren't they?" Dutton asked in mock sympathy. He kneeled down beside Justin and brushed the hair out of his face gently. "I could make it stop, you know. All you have to do is ask me to end it."  
  
"Fuck. You." Justin said with great difficultly. Breathing was getting harder and a thin trickle of blood ran out of his mouth when he spoke.  
  
Dutton stood. "That kind of talk will only get you more pain, sweetheart." He aimed the gun once more and shot Justin in the left shoulder.  
  
Pain seared his flesh and white spots danced before his eyes. He was cold, so very cold.  
  
"I could leave you here. Who knows how long you'd last in this condition? Few minutes, few hours...do you really want to chance it? All that suffering. Now, I'll ask you again...do you want me to end it?"  
  
Justin knew the joke was on Dutton. He could no longer feel his feet and his left arm was paralyzed. He lifted his right arm and flipped Dutton the bird. Then he smiled, or at least, he thought he did. He couldn't really tell if his mouth moved or not.  
  
"Oh, now that's gonna cost you." He raised the gun once more and Justin closed his eyes, glad it was almost over. It didn't matter where Dutton was aiming; Justin knew the truth was one more bullet would end it.  
  
Gunfire rang out, followed by a grunt and a dull thudding sound. Justin tensed for the new bout of pain that never came. Slowly he opened his eyes. Dutton was gone from his line of vision. Suddenly a different face filled his vision. _Brian_ , he mouthed, but no sound came out.  
  
"Justin!" He dropped to his knees and put pressure on the bleeding wounds. _Please, please don't let this be happening_ , his mind screamed. The memory of another night like this, another cold concrete floor, and Justin covered in blood. Icy cold fear gripped him as he looked down into Justin's cloudy blue eyes. "Hang on, just hang on and you'll be fine."  
  
He wanted to tell Brian it was okay, he wasn't afraid to die...after all, he'd be with Brian. But it was too much effort to speak. Justin contented himself with looking up into his lover's beautiful face. Something moved behind Brian's shoulder but Justin couldn't make out the shadowy shape, in fact, he was rapidly losing the ability to focus at all.  
  
"Come on, hang on, Justin!" Brian demanded. He took a deep breath and said the thing that he only wished he'd had the guts to say sooner. "Justin, I love you."  
  
Blue eyes flickered and Justin's lips twitched. Brian smiled at him, but his heart sank. He had failed. He should have listened to the damn bird and not wasted any time getting to Stockwell. His weakness had cost Justin his life.  
  
The shadowy figure behind Brian moved closer, picked Dutton's gun up, and aimed. The sound of the shot registered with Brian just as the bullet tore through his back, plunged through his heart, and busted out the front of his chest and straight into Justin's.  
  
With a primitive cry of rage, Brian spun and pounced on Stockwell, pushing the stunned man down to the floor with a resounding 'thud' and straddling him.  
  
The last thing Justin saw through his dying eyes was Brian _tearing out Stockwell's beating heart with his bare hands_.  
  
*  
  
"Where am I?" Justin asked, unable to see anything in the darkness surrounding him.  
  
 _In between_ , came the disembodied response.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
 _It means we have a decision to make._  
  
" _We_? Who are you?"  
  
A light began to manifest in front of Justin, a tiny spark that grew and shimmered until Justin could make out the shape of a sleek, black bird in front of him. The ethereal light seemed to radiate from _within_ the bird.  
  
 _I am your guide._  
  
"Guide, guide to where?"  
  
 _To the place you are meant to be._ The bird hopped from foot to foot. _Your soul is troubled by things left unfinished, things left unsaid._  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
 _Child, do you believe in eternal love?_  
  
"Yes," he answered honestly.  
  
 _Do you feel this kind of love for your Brian?_  
  
"Yes," Justin said without hesitation.  
  
The Crow studied Justin intently. Then it reached around, and with its beak, plucked a feather from beneath its wing. The Crow flew over and landed at Justin's feet. It dropped the feather and looked up at Justin.  
  
 _Take it. With my feather you may barter for the past, and ultimately, the future._  
  
"What do you mean?" Justin asked, reaching down for the shiny black feather.  
  
 _You may use it to return to where this all began. With this gift you can save yourself...or you can save Brian. I am sorry young one, but I can only give you one feather for one soul, so you must choose between restoring your own life, or the life of your lover._  
  
Justin smiled. "That isn't a choice at all. Send Brian back. Give him his life."  
  
 _Very well, if that is your wish._  
  
"It is."  
  
No doubts, young one?  
  
"None at all. I love him," Justin said by way of explanation.  
  
The Crow eyed Justin thoughtfully with his head cocked to the side. _Love. The one power strong enough to overcome death. Consider your boon granted; Brian will live again._  
  
*  
  
The first thing to dawn on Justin was the pain was gone. _One good thing so far about the afterlife_ , he thought. Taking a deep breath he opened his eyes slowly.  
  
"Brian," he gasped, looking up into the face he thought he'd never see again.  
  
"Hey, Sunshine, welcome back."  
  
Justin sat up and looked around. This was all wrong. They were still in the warehouse, the copper smell of blood still hung heavy in the musty air. He glanced down and saw the Crow's feather clutched in his hand.  
  
"I don't understand. I'm not supposed to be here."  
  
Brian took Justin's chin in his hand and gently titled his lover's face up to meet his eyes. He spoke softly, his eyes shinning with a light Justin had never seen. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be." He held up a sleek black feather that matched the one in Justin's hand.  
  
"You saved me." It was a statement.  
  
"And you saved me," Brian replied. He smiled and answered the unspoken question between them. "The only thing stronger than death-"  
  
"Is love," Justin finished, a radiant smile transforming his face.  
  
Brian pulled Justin to him and their lips met softly. A new sensation of wonder opened for them with the kiss, an understanding of ties deeper than flesh and blood,  
  
 _Erm. Pardon us, but our part in this is not over just yet._  
  
Brian and Justin looked up at the two Crows perched on the catwalk above them.  
  
 _We are glad to have been right about you both, the gift we bestow is not to be taken lightly._  
  
 _Too true, sister, too true,_ said the other Crow. _But you see, children, this is the end...and now the two of you must return to the beginning._  
  
"What do you mean?" Brian asked.  
  
 _You must find another path, another way to reach your objective._  
  
"Stockwell..." Brian muttered.  
  
 _Precisely,_ said the Crow.  
  
"But, he's dead," Justin said.  
  
 _So were you a short while ago, both of you were._  
  
Justin's Crow hopped down and approached the men sitting on the floor. _Children, things will go back to the way they were before any of this happened. You will have a second chance...do not squander it._ The bird spoke directly to Brian, _Find another way to stop him._  



	7. Epilogue

  
Author's notes: Trust me, this story has a happy ending, but you MUST read the entire thing!!!  


* * *

_When a building gets torched, all that's left is ashes. I used to think that was true about everything, families, friends, feelings. But now I know that sometimes if love proves real, and two people are meant to be together, nothing can keep them apart.  
-Sarah, from the film: The Crow_  
  
  
 _It is too bad they will not remember this moment once they return._  
  
 _It was just a moment. One of many. They must return to the beginning and start again, otherwise time and space would become over-crowded with the in-between moments. The might-have-beens do not belong in the continuum, brother, they must return to where they began._  
  
 _Yes. It is foolishness. However, I cannot help but feel sad about the loss...it was such a beautiful moment. Do you think they will ever know just how deeply their souls are bound together?_  
  
 _They are stubborn, those two. Especially the older one. But, give them time. Eventually they will learn that their destinies are intertwined. In the meantime, take comfort, my brother, in the gift we have given them._  
  
 _We were very generous. I do not know about you, sister, but I have only been moved to grant such a boon once before in the entire history of the ages._  
  
 _This was a first for me. I suppose the romance of the young one's soul touched me more than I expected it would._  
  
*  
  
Brian carefully sipped his hot coffee, his head throbbed and his eyes felt like they might pop out at any second. He was paying for the excessive sorrow-drowning Justin and he had engaged in the previous night.  
  
"Fucking Stockwell," he said under his breath. _Justin's right, it can't be over, Stockwell can't get away with it._ Brian swallowed another sip of coffee and thought about the options. _Maybe I'll pay Stockwell a visit this morning,_ he thought with a grimace. _No, bad idea,_ some remote part of his brain shouted.  
  
"Okay, maybe not," he said out loud.  
  
" _Maybe not,_ what?" Justin asked, yawning and running a hand through his sleep tousled hair.  
  
"Nothing." Brian watched Justin carefully slide onto the stool across from him, his hand going again to his head as if it might fall off if he made any sudden moves. "Jesus. You look as bad as I feel."  
  
"No matter how bad I _look_ , I _feel_ worse."  
  
"Guess we drowned our sorrows a little too well last night."  
  
"Oh God, don't remind me. Fucking Stockwell," Justin mumbled, his head resting on his forearm on the counter top.  
  
"Yeah. Fucking Stockwell," Brian agreed, smiling as he absently toyed with the silky strands of blonde hair at the back of Justin's neck.  
  
"Jesus, Brian, what are you going to do?"  
  
Brian took a deep breath. "I thought I'd finish my coffee," he took a sip, "maybe take a shower..."  
  
"No. I mean..."  
  
"I know what you meant," Brian said wryly. "I'll get another job. It was time for a change anyway. And your suspension will eventually be lifted and you'll go back to school. Life in the Pitts will go on."  
  
"And Stockwell will be mayor. We might as well get used to the police state, we'll all end up back in the closet, swept under the rug and out of sight in Stockwell's fag-free Pittsburgh."  
  
"You're mixing your metaphors."  
  
"Jesus, don't tell me I have to be on my guard from the grammar police too?"  
  
Brian shook his head. It seemed Justin's anger was the best cure for a hangover; he no longer looked green around the gills. As if to prove the point, Justin's stomach rumbled loudly.  
  
"Well, since neither of us has anywhere to be this morning, what do you say we go grab a nice leisurely breakfast?"  
  
"Why not? Pretty soon, the Liberty Diner is one of the few liberties we're going to have left."  
  
As they made their way to the diner, Brian tried unsuccessfully to lighten Justin's mood. Finally he resorted to sarcasm. "Look on the bright side, it's certainly a nice day."  
  
"Yeah, I guess it is. I thought it was supposed to rain. Looks like the forecasters missed it."  
  
"Looks like they did," Brian agreed in amusement.  



End file.
